


A Rush and A Push

by dryocampa__rubicunda



Category: Hocus Pocus (1993)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marijuana, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, They're 19, Underage Drinking, the tags make it sounds like a bummer but i swear it's nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryocampa__rubicunda/pseuds/dryocampa__rubicunda
Summary: what if we kissed in the abandoned witch museum-- haha, just kidding... unless....?
Relationships: Jay (Hocus Pocus)/Ice (Hocus Pocus)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	A Rush and A Push

There’s not a lot going on in Salem, Massachusetts, in the summer. It’s Hallowe’en that tourists come for, spooky fun with an obligatory sprinkling of dubiously accurate historical information about the witch trials.

So if you’re growing up in Salem, you entertain yourself however you can, in the time-honoured ways of teens everywhere, including breaking into places you aren’t supposed to be.

\--

Jay and Ice first snuck into the old Sanderson Sisters Museum one cold, misty night in March. They'd been walking aimlessly around town, sharing a flask of Jack Daniels between them, not really enough to do much for them, but it was better than being at home.

Jay’s brother was a real asshole, and he spent as little time at home as possible. Jay got a job at 14, soon as he was legal, pumping gas at Tomlinson’s gas station out on the highway west of town. It kept him out of the house, and gave him some cash for weed and liquor, plus food, which was not in reliable supply at home. 

Ice's family was OK-- honestly, they were pretty great: if anything, they were the kind of frustrating overly-supportive parents who hovered around Ice encouraging him to follow his passions, overbearingly supported him when he decided to go by Ice instead of Ernie or Ernesto, and made sure to let him know that there was a box of condoms in the bathroom that he should help himself to if there was any special girl, “OR BOY,” in his life who he wanted to “explore physical intimacy with.” Ugh.

Ice and his mom, Gabriela, had moved to Salem when Ice was six, moving out of the house in the Jersey suburbs where they'd lived with his dad. By the time a year had gone by, Gabriela had moved them in with Kimberley, who ran the smaller of the two candle stores downtown, and who made her visibly radiant with joy in a way that Ice’s dad certainly never did. Kimberley and Gabriela were married-- not legally, but  _ spiritually _ , in a handbinding ceremony at Percy Quinn State Park the year after that. Jay had found the photos once, with little eight-year-old Ice in a flower crown, and never let him live it down. 

Noticing Jay was shivering in his leather jacket, Ice was about to call it a night when they realized they were near the old Sanderson Sisters museum.

So they made their way through the underbrush around the building, trying halfheartedly to pry open a window, before Jay tried the doorknob, and realized it wasn’t even locked.

Nothing was ever properly locked in this shitty little town, nothing worth stealing: just bougie new age shit-- “Hey,” Ice protested mildly, recognizing a jab at his moms’ store. 

Salem was a weirdo town, supposedly, but it was only really kind to a particular type of weirdo-- precious, flouncy rich kids, the kind of kids whose parents threw masquerade balls in their mansions on Hallowe’en. 

It was not especially welcoming to kids like Jay, who lived with his burnout older brother in a moldy singlewide in the trailer park outside of town, or Ice, “the kid with the dyke mom.” 

“Actually,  _ two  _ dyke moms,” Ice would correct people. “They’ve been married ten years, which is more than your parents can say. Didn’t your dad sign up for one of those pathetic video dating services?” When you grow up with a clear target painted on your back, you learn pretty quick how to deflect and give as good as you get. 

\--

After that night in March, Ice and Jay returned to the Sanderson house whenever they needed to get away from school, from their families, from asshole normy kids.

The main floor of the museum held the labelled exhibits, the big cauldron, the dusty old rack of postcards, and the legendary Black Flame Candle, said to summon the legendary trio of witches back to life if lit by a virgin on Hallowe’en during a full moon. But up a narrow flight of creaky wooden stairs, there was a small loft that had been used for storage during the museum's tenure. There was an industrial gunmetal-grey desk stacked with bankers' boxes of old papers, cartons of unsold witch-themed merchandise, torn scraps of linen curtains hanging from the rafters, and, in the corner, a sagging, musty old horsehair mattress. 

At some point Jay brought his dad's old army blanket, and a boom box from the pawn shop, and just left them up in the loft. It didn’t seem like anyone else ever thought to come to the former museum, despite everyone here having such a hard-on for local history or whatever. 

So here it was, June, and Jay was trying not to think too much about how they only had a year left at Salem High. After that, Ice was planning to move all the way out to the West Coast in the fall to go to some weirdo college in Olympia, and Jay would be stuck in Massachussetts pumping gas and trying to save up enough to get his own place.

It was art class they were skipping that day. The teacher wanted desperately to be considered cool and laid back, so he'd let you submit a sketchbook in lieu of the assignments, and look the other way if you didn't show up to class. Especially now, with the school year almost over-- most of the teachers had given up on trying to get kids to do much of anything at all. 

It was a hot day, and the air was heavy and close. One of Jay's Smiths tapes played tinnily on the little boom box. Ice grabbed his sketchbook and an Altoids tin from his threadbare Guatemalan backpack. Setting the nubbly black sketchbook on his lap, he rolled a pinner, snapping the last few pieces of bud from the stems and running his finger around the tin to get out the last few dusty bits.

Jay kicked off his beat-up motorcycle boots and lay back on the scratchy army blanket, draped over the musty old attic mattress. 

Ice flopped down beside Jay on the mattress, and stretched out with his hands behind his head. He always seemed comfortable and at home wherever he was, which seemed like a superpower to Jay, who felt comfortable exactly nowhere. Producing one of the Zippos he'd stolen from the museum below on an earlier visit, Ice sparked the thin joint and took a long pull.

The two had been friends since the day their grade 5 class had a substitute teacher. Jay, the tiniest, blondest kid in the class, threw all the chalk out the window before the sub came in, and the teacher had ended up giving up and letting the class watch a movie instead. Ice was a chubby people-pleasing sweetheart who harboured a private aspiration to be a shit-disturber. He found an excellent mentor in Jay. The two had raised so much hell that year that they were both held back, cementing their bond. Now they were 19, and had been an inseparable unit ever since. Til next year, but again, Jay was trying not to think about it.

When Ice exhaled and rolled over onto his side, propped up on one elbow to pass the joint, Jay noticed Ice's ratty Primus shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of his heavy stomach, thick with dark hair. 

Jay felt… something, in the pit of his stomach, and, fuck, in his jeans. He hoped it wasn't noticeable, and he forced himself to meet his friend's eye, all casual, guys being dudes, as he took the joint. When Jay’s dad had still been around, he’d kick Jay’s ass just for looking at him wrong, so Jay kind of had a thing about eye contact. But it was different with Ice, like everything was. 

That first hit felt good. Jay loved the moment when he could feel something unlatch in his stomach, loosening all the muscles he usually held taut as he moved through the world. 

Ice smiled lazily at him, took the joint back, and took a long toke. When Jay reached to take it back from him, Ice extended his arm back behind him, just out of Jay’s reach.

“Fuck you,” Jay said, scrambling to reach across his friend’s body, grabbing the joint and taking the last pull, until it was nothing but a scrap of paper burning between his fingers. 

As he crushed the roach between the dusty floorboards, Jay realized he was still right up against his friend. Ice's belly pressed against Jay's skinny body. Jay could feel the heat of him through his shirt, and without thinking, he put a hand on Ice’s side, fingers just under the hem of his shirt. Fuck, was that weird? Ice had always been kind of touch-feely guy, but Jay was usually more skittish. Ah well, who gave a shit. 

The afternoon was quiet, and in the thick, dusty air of the loft, Jay could hear nothing but some faint birdsong from the forest outside, and his friend’s sudden intake of breath. 

Fuck it, why not? Jay's hands slid up Ice’s sides, sought out Ice's nipples and rolling one of them between his thumb and forefinger. Jay felt a bully’s pride at the yelp this elicited from Ice.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" Jay laughed, his face curling up into his characteristic smirk.

"Fuck off," Ice said, "Of course I do, asshole. It feels amazing."

With one of his big, soft hands, Ice pulled Jay flush against him. There was a split second where they lay face to face, like Roadrunner hanging in the air before he realizes he's run off a cliff.

And then Ice kissed him. Jay's hands were still up Ice's shirt, pressed now between their bodies, Ice's face on his, his breath hot, smelling like weed and the stupid grape Bubble Tape he always made Jay bring him from Tomlinson's.

Jay's heart thrashed frantically in his chest before he mentally shrugged and kissed his best friend back. Ice ran his fingers through Jay's long hair, then curled them around his chin, holding his face possessively close.

Jay felt… small against Ice's thick body, strong arms.  ~~ Felt pretty. ~~ Worry about that later. He was also hard as fuck in his 501s. His hips moved involuntarily against Ice's, and he could feel the heaviness of his friend's cock inside his-- fuck, inside his stupid cargo shorts. Don't think about that either.

He reached down to adjust himself, and the pressure of his palm against his fly almost took his breath away. Ice's eyes followed Jay's hand down, and he smiled. 

"Mm, OK" he said, "I see how it is." 

Ice could move fast for a big guy, and he grabbed Jay's hand off his jeans and pinned it back behind his head, Jay's other arm held beneath Ice's body as the smaller boy squirmed.

"Ha, get the fuck off of me, dude!" Jay laughed. 

"Oh, is that what you want?" Ice said, his body heavy on Jay's. Jay could smell his sweat, and hear the slight nerves under Ice's bluster. He was teasing, but he was also asking, giving Jay an out. After all these years, Jay was still usually the instigator of reckless shit, and Ice still usually hung back, worried about taking things too far. Noticing and recognizing this dynamic made something in Jay relax, and emboldened him to keep going.

Jay ground his hips up against Ice's and enjoyed the groan it elicited. He could feel how hard his friend's cock was against his own as Ice leaned more heavily into him.

Jay's hands stayed above his head as Ice released them from his grasp, placing one elbow on either side of Jay's head, kissing him sloppily as they ground against each other.

When Jay remembered he had hands, he put them to quick work, fumbling with the button fly of his jeans and pushing them down his thighs, moving his hand up between Ice's body and his own, feeling where his briefs were already damp from his leaking cock.

Boldly, he moved next to unzip his friend's shorts. Ice's heavy cock was tented against the fabric of his boxers, and he shuddered as Jay ran his fingers along its underside.

Pulling Ice's stupid shorts all the way off, Jay kicked his way out of his jeans and shoved Ice over onto his back. Jay knelt over him, straddling him, making excellent use of his finely honed instinct for antagonism. 

Jay lowered himself down, until his chest was pressed against Ice's.

"Is this the shit you like, faggot?" he breathed into his friend’s face.

"Yeah, dude, it very clearly is, and your dick's just as hard as mine is, so." Ice replied with equanimity. 

Ice had never given a shit what anyone else thought of him, from his weird music to the stupid little hat he’d started wearing everywhere this year. When he started insisting that everyone call him Ice instead of Ernie, and obviously nobody went along with it, he enlisted Jay’s help to shave the name in big letters into the back of his own head. Privately, Jay admired this dementedly stubborn weirdness, but it also made Ice frustratingly hard to fuck with. He just rolled with whatever you threw at him.

Jay growled and grabbed Ice's nipple again through his shirt, twisting it sharply this time.

"Ahh-- fuck dude, unhh--" Ice groaned, bucking against Jay. 

"Say it," Jay snarled, settling comfortably into his bullying headspace like a warm bath.

"Ah-- uh, p-please," Ice said, trying unsuccessfully to get friction against Jay.

“That’s better,” Jay smirked, and reached between them, holding both their cocks together in his hand. He only pumped a few times before he came hard, stars behind his eyes. As soon as Ice saw Jay reach his orgasm, he did as well, cum spurting up through Jay’s fingers and across his stomach. Jay wiped his sticky hands across Ice’s t-shirt, but even this couldn’t break Ice’s calm.

“C’mere,” Ice said, holding his arm wide.

“No way,” Jay said angrily, “I’m not--”

“I know, dude,” Ice said placatingly, “But also, literally nobody here would care if you were.”

Jay settled grudgingly into the crook of Ice’s arm, his head on his friend’s shoulder and his body curled against the larger boy’s side. Ice rubbed slow circles into Jay’s back as Jay went boneless with pleasure and drifted off to sleep.

When he awoke, the school day was long over. The heat of the day had broken, and the air was starting to cool. Jay popped  _ Strangeways, Here We Come _ out of the cassette deck and threw it in his backpack, and the two gathered their things and headed downstairs.

As they passed through the ground floor of the museum, Ice paused by the Black Flame Candle and pulled a Bic from the cargo pocket of his shorts.

“Hey, check it out,” he said, flicking the lighter on and holding it against the candle’s wick. Nothing happened.

“Looks like it counts,” Ice said, smiling broadly at Jay.

“Ugh, shut the fuck up, dumbass, it’s not even Hallowe’en,” Jay said, smacking his friend across the shoulder. But the flush that swept across Jay’s face didn’t escape Ice’s attention. 

As the boys let themselves out, they didn’t notice a black cat watching knowingly from the hearth. Thackery Binx had never known love in his short mortal life, but he was always glad to see others find it.


End file.
